


First Impressions

by LostyK



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, Pre-Canon, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23053561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostyK/pseuds/LostyK
Summary: Deceit and Anxiety are perfectly happy in their side of Thomas' mind - even if Anxiety does keep waking Deceit up at night whenever he has a nightmare or hears a strange noise.That is, until a stranger shows up in their kitchen in the middle of the night, claiming to be Creativity.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Deceit Sanders
Comments: 21
Kudos: 216





	First Impressions

If Deceit could have one wish, it would be to be able to go one week without being woken by a pounding at his door. He rolls over and tries to go back to sleep, but the knocking only increases.

“Deceit, if you don’t open the door I will knock it down!”

With a sigh, Deceit crosses his room and pulls the door open, summoning his clothes as he goes. A nervous looking Anxiety is on the other side. The sleeves of his hoody are pulled down over his hands, and he is biting on his lip whilst looking around nervously.

“There’s someone in the house,” he whispers.

Deceit raises an eyebrow and leans against his doorframe. “Probably just Thomas’s parents.”

Anxiety shakes his head. “Not Thomas’s house. _This_ house.”

Deceit bites back a sigh. “There’s no one in the house, Anxiety.”

“Since you’re Deceit, doesn’t that mean there _is_ someone in the house?”

“And who, pray tell, could _possibly_ have broken in to our house?”

Anxiety shrugs. “Burglar,” he says, listing off his fingers. “Axe murderer. Serial killer-“

“Anxiety, we are imaginary.”

“ _Imaginary_ serial killer then,” he says, and then shrugs defensively at Deceits expression. “It could happen!”

Deceit rubs his face with one hand. He’s about to say something else, when there is a loud _crash_ from downstairs. Anxiety jumps and grabs on to Deceits arm. Deceit freezes.

“I told you,” Anxiety whispers.

Deceit gently pries Anxiety’s hand off his arm, and moves towards the stair.

“What are you _doing_?” Anxiety hisses from behind him.

“Certainly not going to see what caused that noise.”

“Are you _crazy_?” Anxiety whispers, but follows Deceit to the stairs anyway.

“I am, of course, forcing you to come with me,” Deceit points out. “You _definitely_ shouldn’t stay up here.”

Anxiety shakes his head. “I’m not letting you face this alone.”

And yet, just moments ago, Anxiety had seemed ready to cower behind Deceit. Still, Deceit has spent too long knowing Anxiety to try to keep up with all of the contradictions in his behaviour. Anxiety is, most of the time, and irrational emotion. It makes sense that the embodiment of it would be equally irrational.

The two of them make their way downstairs. The living room is dark, but there is a light on in the kitchen, and the glow of it reveals the living room furniture. Deceit glances at Anxiety, who is glaring around the room as if he hopes to scare whatever it is away with just a look.

From the kitchen, there are more noises. It sounds as if someone is rummaging through their cupboards. Deceit doesn’t bother to check if Anxiety is following before crossing to the kitchen. He lingers by the doorway, just out of sight of whatever’s inside, and the sound stops. When Deceit peers inside, it appears empty. He takes a few steps over the threshold. Still nothing.

Deceit turns around to tell Anxiety that it was probably just a rat or something, when something leaps out from behind him.

Suddenly, Anxiety is between Deceit and his attacker. He snarls, pushing whatever is attacking them to the ground, and sends the attackers weapon – a morning star, some distant part of Deceit’s mind notes – to land next to Deceit’s feet. And then he’s gone again, too quickly for Deceit to track. When Deceit looks around, he finds him on top of the fridge, hissing like a cornered cat at _whatever_ had just shown up.

Deceit inspects the attacker. It’s a side, dressed in green and black. The side begins to sit up, and when he lifts his head Deceit sees a white streak in his hair, and the beginnings of a scraggly moustache growing above his lip.

The moustache is not a good look for him. Thomas, it seems, is not yet able to pull off facial hair.

“Wow!” the stranger says, sounding strangely enthusiastic. “That _hurt_. Do you work out?”

Deceit glances at Anxiety, only to find Anxiety seems equally confused.

“I suppose fight and flight does have its uses,” Deceit drawls, and Anxiety glares at him, the way he always does when he can’t tell if Deceit is making fun of him or not.

The other side begins to stand, but Deceit picks up the morning star and takes a step forward. The man doesn’t seem phased.

“You know, I love it when another guy grabs my tool,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.

“Gross,” Anxiety mutters.

Deceit ignores him. “Who are you?” he asks, “And how did you get in here?”

The stranger beams. “Don’t you recognise me? I’m Creativity!”

Deceit raises an eyebrow. “Of course you are.”

He hasn’t had much contact with Creativity – or the King, as he calls himself – though he doesn’t avoid their part of Thomas’ mind quite as much as the other two sides do. From what Deceit can tell, the King spends most of his time in the imagination, by himself.

But Deceit _has_ met the King, so he knows that the king wears red and black, not green and black, that there is no white streak in his hair, and no moustache growing on his face. He knows that the king carries a longsword, and that he has a ridiculously detailed code of honour that doesn’t involve attacking someone in their own kitchen.

“Yeah, Creativity’s that weirdo who lives by himself,” Anxiety chimes in.

The stranger nods. “Yep, that _was_ Creativity. Now it’s us.”

“ _Us?”_ Anxiety echoes, as Deceit is still trying to wrap his head around this. “Please tell me there aren’t more of you.”

“All right, I won’t,” the stranger – _Creativity_ – says. “You wouldn’t like my brother anyway. Total prude. _Super_ boring.”

“What happened to the old Creativity?” Deceit asks.

The stranger shrugged. “He’s in me! Or at least, I think. I don’t know how it works. All I know is that we _used_ to be him, and now it’s me and my brother.”

“Your brother is also Creativity?” Deceit clarifies.

Creativity nods. “He’s the boring bits. Unicorns and princesses and fluffy dancing animals. I’m the exciting stuff. Like the princess killing the fluffy animals. Or getting gored by the unicorn. Or-“

“I hate this,” Anxiety growls from on top of the fridge.

“That’s me!” Creativity says, grinning. “The one everyone hates.”

That… is not something Deceit knows how to respond to. A glance upward shows that Anxiety seems equally taken aback.

Creativity, however, didn’t seem to notice the effect his words had had. He clapped his hands together. “So! Which way’s my room?”

“What?” Anxiety said. “You can’t actually think we’re going to let you stay?”

Deceit sighed. “I’m sure he has _plenty_ other places to stay.”

Anxiety scowls at him. “There’s the imagination. Like the last guy.”

Creativity pouts. “But that’s no fun! Well, actually, it can be _very_ fun, but then my brother keeps showing up and ruining it.”

“Well, where’s your brother?” Anxiety asked.

Creativity shrugged. “Probably with the goody-two-shoes sides. He’s boring like that. You guys seem way more fun! Well, he does.” Creativity gestured at Deceit. “You just seem mean.”

Anxiety glared. “You tried to attack us,” he spat.

Creativity waved his hand. “Eh, water under the bridge. Besides, you attacked me back.”

“Yeah, because you tried to kill my best- Deceit.”

Deceit freezes at Anxiety’s slip, but when he looks over, Anxiety refuses to make eye contact. Right, they’re going to pretend that never happened. That should go perfectly.

Still, something grows nauseatingly warm inside him at the knowledge that Anxiety thinks highly of him. Not that it should. The two of them are far too busy working to keep Thomas safe to worry about something like _friends_. Besides, Deceit is the only person Anxiety ever talks to. That makes it _such_ a lofty honour to be Anxiety’s best friend.

Creativity notices the slip, unfortunately. “Your _best_ Deceit? Is there another one? What’s _he_ like.”

“We keep him locked up in the basement,” Deceit says drily. “Sometimes we even remember to feed him.”

Creativity lights up.

“There’s no other Deceit!” Anxiety snaps, and Creativity deflates again. Anxiety turns to Deceit. “He’s not staying.”

Deceit sighs. “We _won’t_ be talking about this in private then. Excuse us,” he adds to Creativity before sweeping out of the room.

He hears Creativity ask “Does he always speak like that?” and then the _thump_ as Anxiety jumps off the fridge, and the quiet pad of footsteps behind him. Deceit settles into the armchair that Thomas’ father favours and leans the morning star that he’s still holding against its side.

“I don’t see what there is to talk about,” Anxiety mutters behind him. “Do you _want_ him around?”

“Why, of course!” Deceit exclaims, laying on the sarcasm thick, “I want nothing more than to be assaulted every time I go downstairs.”

Anxiety snorts, and perches on the back of the sofa. Why he can’t just sit on it normally, Deceit has no idea.

“But he _does_ have to stay somewhere,” Deceit points out.

“The imagination-“

“Worked _so_ well for the King, didn’t it?”

Anxiety glares and says nothing, so Deceit continues. “If what Creativity says is true, if the King did… _fragment_ in to two sides… do you know how dangerous that could have been for Thomas?”

Anxiety doesn’t answer, which Deceit knows means he is _very_ aware, and has been thinking about it for the last twenty minutes or so.

“Do you want that to happen again?” Deceit asks.

Anxiety sighs. “You don’t _know_ it’ll happen again.”

But Anxiety is chewing his lip, and Deceit knows that he’s won.

“I guess it would be mean to make him stay in the imagination,” Anxiety muses. “I mean, he’s probably only half as strong as the King, right? What happens if he gets hurt? Or his brother tries to do something to him?”

Deceit stares at Anxiety, too surprised to pull him from his spiralling thoughts. He’d expected the argument about Thomas’ mental health to be enough to sway him, and yet, here Anxiety is being concerned over _Creativity’s_ welfare. From their interactions so far, Anxiety seems to _detest_ Creativity.

Is Anxiety like this with everyone? Does he stay up at night, worrying about something happening to Logic? To _Morality_?

Deceit wonders whose safety he was trying to reassure himself of, when he visited Deceits room after a nightmare. His own? Or Deceits?

Deceit must not do a good enough job at hiding his confusion, because Anxiety scowls. “I just mean, you know, that would probably be bad for Thomas. If something happened to one of his sides like that.”

“Right,” Deceit says, pretending to believe him. “It appears we are on the same page.”

Anxiety shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. He can stay, or whatever.”

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled about your approval,” Deceit says drily.

He heads back into the kitchen, but Anxiety doesn’t follow him. Creativity is rifling through their cupboards, then as soon as he sees Deceit he tries to look as if he _wasn’t_ just rifling through their cupboards.

He doesn’t seem to be able to keep still, though. His fingers drum against the countertop that he’s leaning on.

He’s nervous, Deceit realises. Deceit wonders where he would go if they didn’t let him stay.

“Well, Creativity,” Deceit begins, but is cut off before he can deliver the verdict.

“Please, Creativity was my father,” the other side says, overly cheerful. “Call me the Duke.”

He’s stalling, which means he thinks he knows what Deceit is going to say and wants to avoid it. Deceit sees no reason to draw out the misery.

“You can stay,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “But you’ll have to summon your own room.”

The Duke begins to look hopeful, but he hesitates. “Are you doing that thing you keep doing when you say the opposite of what you mean?”

A straight answer would probably just add to his confusion, so Deceit raises an eyebrow and says, “I don’t _always_ have to do that.”

There’s a moment where the Duke seems to chew this over, before he grins.

He’s at Deceit in a flash, before Deceit has any time to defend himself of even brace for the blow. But he doesn’t hit Deceit. Instead, he wraps his arms around him and pulls him close to his chest, almost crushing Deceit with the force of it.

It’s a hug. Of course it’s a hug, Deceit knows what hugs are. Thomas has been hugged many times. Deceit hasn’t, though. Neither he nor Anxiety is the kind of person to initiate hugs, and it’s not like Deceit could just ask _Morality_.

It’s too tight, and the Duke smells like something Deceit tries not to think about, but Deceit doesn’t try to push him away. When it finishes as suddenly as it starts, Deceit fights back the urge to ask for _another_.

The Duke bounds past him, into the living room, where Anxiety is laughing at Deceit’s distress.

Anxiety’s laughter dies as the Duke draws close. Instead, he raises his arms and leans away.

“No, no, no,” he says desperately. “I, like, _barely_ agreed. You definitely shouldn’t feel grateful.”

The Duke, it seems, is an unstoppable force, because he pulls Anxiety close to him. Anxiety shoots Deceit a pleading look, but Deceit just raises an eyebrow in return. Anxiety scowls, but Deceit can see the moment when shoulders relax, almost against his will. Awkwardly, Anxiety wraps his hands around the Duke in return.

The Duke pulls away, but grabs Anxiety’s hand, which means he pulls Anxiety with him when he crosses the room to Deceit. He wraps one arm around Anxiety’s shoulders, and then the other against Deceit. Pulls them close to him so that their heads are almost touching.

“I take it back,” Anxiety mutters, but he doesn’t try to pull away.

“Too late!” Creativity sing-songs. “This is going to be _so much fun_!”

Deceit isn’t sure he agrees, but he sees no use in fighting it.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are much appreciated! Also, find me on tumblr: [ sparrow-flies-south](https://sparrow-flies-south.tumblr.com)


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